Islana's Story
Erra stopped scanning the document—a treaty over a land dispute—and began to listen intently at the hallway. He could hear an argument, though he couldn't make out the words; he recognized the voice of one of his chief guards, and could swear that he was arguing with...
I hope they get out of his way before he draws his sword, Erra reflected, setting down the papers and looking expectantly at the door. He could hear swearing now and knew it was in Arpiar's language, which confirmed it. Jall nearly always cursed in his native language, even so many years later... Erra stood, made his way into the door and swung it open.
"Kaleal's Blade is always to be shown in upon arrival," he called to the guardsman. "It saves a lot of violence."
Jall gave him a grateful look, nodded to the guard, and joined Erra in his private study. "We have a lot to talk about, you and I," he sighed.
"I imagine we do," Erra agreed. "Care for a drink?"
"No." Jall paused. "You'll probably need one, by the time this is done. And you'll definitely want to be sitting," he added.
Erra did as he suggested, and Jall sat in a chair across from him. "Well? What brings you back to the mainland after... Seventeen years, is it?"
Jall nodded. "Since the funerals..."
They shared a moment of silent sorrow; Jall and Erra had been in touch only by letter and messenger since they had buried their dead so long ago. The memories were overwhelming for Jall, who had always rigidly separated Cresula and the Knights and his work from the mainland, his family and his home. After he lost his family to the fires and raiders, he simply refused to return to their home and devoted himself entirely to his work.
"So why now, Jall?" Erra asked.
"A lot has happened since the Voice's letter to you and Islana's return home. Things that can't be sent in letters, things I won't entrust to messengers. Which do you want first, the good or the bad?"
"Good."
Jall reached into his pocket, found the necklace he'd taken from Islana, and dropped it on Erra's table. "We're closer to peace then we've ever been before; the last piece has dropped in to place. We think."
"We? You and the Voice?"
He nodded. "Peace in our lifetime, Erra. It's going to happen. I will make it happen."
"Good. What's the bad news?"
"Islana's been sleeping with a Warrior and is mentally unstable; her hand was injured badly enough that... Well, she'll use it again, she may even use a sword again, but she'll never have the same level of skill and control back."
"Islana is not my concern."
Jall took a deep breath. He'd promised Ilyan, and here was where the argument was really going to start. "Yes, Erra. She is."
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 14: The Other Son
"So this place... It's real. But it isn't real." Cleran's head hurt, though at least it wasn't the stabbing headache he'd had before. It was more a general fog of confusion; he knew he was on the verge of knowing everything—or at least, everything he was supposed to know. He was standing (or rather, floating) in a vast expanse of dark. Analla, the Sundancer, stood in front of him.
"It's not that hard a concept, Cleran," she scoffed.
"Forgive me. I'm new at this."
"Oh, don't worry, brother mine, you'll understand it soon enough."
Cleran half-wished she'd stop calling him that. She'd been referring to him as some variation of her brother for as long as they'd been in this... place... and he had no idea how long that was, really. Time seemed either to not exist, or to be completely irrelevant here. On the one hand, he knew he should have been thrilled to have some sort of family, but on the other hand... Dysis is my brother, he's my family, he's the only one I need. But he hates me...
"I understand this place is inside my mind, but it's just as real as if it were solid," he clarified. "But what is it?"
"That's a better question. It's what connects us to Ocando, a sort of Heaven if you will. In miniature. We all have one, though they look different. And if I were you, I'd start decorating. This vast expanse of blackness is... Well, dull."
"Decorating?"
"It can look like anything you want, within reason."
"And that's supposed to help me understand the fires?" he asked skeptically.
"It'll help. The fire is within your mind, controlled by your mind... The more control you can learn here, the more you'll have over the flames. Here. Let me show you my Heaven."
She reached forward and took his hand. The darkness flared into flame for a second, then faded. He was now standing in what looked like a rather comfortable living room. A skylight to let the sun in denoted that it could probably double as a church, if she wished, or maybe it did automatically. It was her Heaven, after all. The floor was covered in a soft golden carpet, the walls furnished with bookshelves and paintings. Analla was sitting in a luxurious looking chair, surrounded by candles. Everything in the room gleamed and sparkled, and she looked as if she belonged there, a beautiful golden woman in a beautiful golden room.
"How very... blinding."
"Take my hand. I'll show you another."
Hesitantly, he did so, and the world flashed. It faded to a meadow, rich grass dotted with beautiful flowers. It was night, and he looked up to see a full moon and stars, though no constellations he recognized. They seemed to form paintings instead, of people drawn in the stars. A woman he didn't recognize was one, and then another next to her, a child. There were others, male and female; it was like looking into a gallery of paintings.
He noticed a few shapes in the sky that looked like nothing so much as empty picture frames. A cool wind blew around them. Cleran felt out of place, though not unwelcome. Analla was clearly unwanted, though, and she shimmered where she stood as though she couldn't quite force herself in. "Where are we? Whose is this?" he asked.
"Mine."
Cleran spun to see Ilyan behind him, looking... Not quite sad, but wistful. The angel pointed skyward, to the first portrait Cleran had noticed. "Alira. My wife." His finger trailed over a little, to the child.
"Galiera?" Cleran asked.
"No. Gali is... She's not here, yet. That's Jall's granddaughter. There's his son, Keres, and Ker's wife. They were like family. They died when I did. There's my mother, though I never knew her..."
"Who are you waiting for?" Cleran asked, gesturing towards the picture frames.
"My father. My daughter... Her husband."
"I thought Galiera died."
"I know you did." Ilyan smiled. "I think you'd better leave here now, Cleran. And take that with you." He gave Analla a distasteful look.
"I stay away out of respect. If I wanted to, I could invade like that." Analla snapped her fingers and appeared fully within the safe meadow.
"Go away, Analla. Leave me alone."
"To pity yourself?" she asked, her voice catty.
"Go away." Ilyan sounded calm and sad. "I can force you out."
"No, you can't." Her eyes flashed. "I'm an Avatar. You're only an Angel."
Ilyan sighed tiredly. It was as though they'd had this fight before. "Only an angel," he muttered, and began to glow with a faint blue. It covered Analla too, though a few licks of flame escaped. "But you always forget. I'm not only an angel. I'm a Kelanister, too. Go away, Analla."
The glow faded and Analla with it. Cleran wasn't sure if she'd been banished or let herself be banished, but it didn't seem to matter to Ilyan. Here, he had nothing to prove. This was his home.
"I didn't think you could be sad in Heaven," Cleran said.
"Don't worry about it. I chose this path for myself. I'll be with Alira again soon, once Gali and my father are both all right. I know I will." Ilyan gazed up at the sky for a moment. "You should probably go before she gets annoyed again. But if you ever need me, you can find me here. Now that you know the way."
"I don't know the way," Cleran objected.
"Yes, you do. It's inside you now." Ilyan reached forward and clasped Cleran's hand. "You're a good man, Cleran, you'll do the right thing. I have faith in that. Faith in you."
And then the world faded around him, and he found himself reunited with Analla, somewhere entirely different.
"Ilyan has never had the best manners," Analla muttered.
"I don't think he likes you much," Cleran said.
"I know he doesn't like me. I don't like him. Damn Kelanisters."
Cleran looked around at the new landscape. The ground was rocky and jagged. It looked like a tiny island, with angry waves lapping at the shore violently. A storm was threatening to break overhead; neither sun nor moon could break through the cloud covering. The wind howled and whipped at him. There had been a few trees, once, but they had toppled and splintered. Cleran had the distinct feeling that he was unwanted here, though nothing kept him out the way Ilyan had done to Analla.
"Where are we? Who could think of this lonely place as Heaven?"
Analla's features were overshadowed by sadness. "Our third brother. The... The first Prophet."
"I thought you were the first Prophet."
"I know. Everyone thinks that. It's wrong, though. Jevery was first... I was second, and you are third."
"Who was Jevery?"
"I can't explain that yet. But... It is because of him that everything happened."
"Everything?"
She nodded solemnly. "Everything. The Rift, the war... Jevery's doing."
"And he was one of us?"
She nodded.
"I don't like it here. I want to go."
"GO!"
The voice was eerie and disembodied. It was more of a haunted wail than anything else. There was no sense of presence behind it; Cleran had no idea who it belonged to, aside from the obvious. It belonged to whoever created this... Heaven.
Analla nodded and she faded from view. "Follow me," she whispered, leaving Cleran alone in the sadness. For a moment it was overwhelming and he couldn't think or feel anything but an ultimate loss. "Who are you?" he yelled into the din. "How did this happen? Let me help you!"
Because he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the sorrow here, the knowledge that whoever this Jevery was, he'd lost everything, and would never get it back. This place was broken and painful, and somehow Cleran knew it would be up to him to put it together again.
"GO!" the voice echoed again.
Cleran did as asked. He closed his eyes, concentrated and—
He shuddered, waking up. It hadn't been a dream, but he hadn't been awake. A glance out the window showed it was late, now, far into the night. A meal sat waiting for him, with another pitcher of water. He could see scorch marks on the wall from where he'd tried to hurt Dysis.
"Dysis... Dysis, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
The memory of the broken little Island stayed with him. He was suddenly grateful for everything Dysis had done for him, everything he'd resented only hours earlier. He was grateful for every human feeling he'd ever had, for the knowledge that Dysis cared for him, knowing that Islana had loved him, however briefly...
He stopped. "No," he said, "No, she didn't. I loved her, but she..." He swallowed. "She hates me, Dysis hates me..."
"Care for a drink?" Kalin offered.
"Yeah." Dysis didn't usually drink, particularly not on an empty stomach, but a stiff drink definitely sounded good to him at the moment. Kalin reached into his pocket and produced a key, unlocked one of the drawers in the desk, and pulled out a flask of... Something.
"This is usually my room when I'm here," he explained. "I don't drink much myself, but... Well, now and then, when crises arise, I need something to give me a kick." He shrugged and tossed the corked vial to Dysis. "I warn you, it's potent."
Dysis uncapped it and took a few swallows. His eyes widened. "What—what is this?" he asked.
Kalin answered with a word in his own language that Dysis didn't understand, and shrugged. "I think... Maybe I shouldn't drink any more. And, uh... Maybe have something to eat?"
"It woke you up, then?"
"It's like a slap in the face."
"And it'll keep you going for awhile. Trust me. C'mon, let's go get you dinner." Kalin started back towards the door, paused, then produced another key. "Wrists," he half-ordered, and Dysis gratefully held his wrists within reach. Kalin unchained them, then did the same for his ankles. "No need for those now."
"You aren't afraid I'll try and escape? Or try and hurt you?"
"You couldn't do either if you tried." Kalin sounded amused. "And if you did try, there'd be a score of Knights in here in seconds. You wouldn't have much of a chance." He pushed the door open, and lead Dysis through the hall ways, back down to the kitchen.
No one was around, but Kalin didn't seem to mind cooking for himself and Dysis—if anything, he seemed to enjoy it. He knew where everything was kept, and being one handed didn't seem to hinder him at all. Dysis leant against one of the counters and watched.
"You know, if you have any questions, you're welcome to ask me," Kalin pointed out as he began to boil water. "I'm probably the one man who can answer them all."
"Do you know what happened to Cleran?"
"More or less. He's... An Angel, of sorts. Though that's not really the right word for it," Kalin answered. "I believe your Holy Books describe him as the Sun's True Son or the Third Prophet."
"You've read them?"
"Several times." Kalin glanced over his shoulder for a moment, then returned to chopping vegetables. "The translations first, then after I learned to read in your language, I read them in the original."
"Why?"
"I wanted to understand your side. It didn't help much."
"Oh."
Dysis watched him, amazed he was so expert at doing with one hand so many things that most people would unthinkingly use two for. Almost without thinking, he asked, "What happened to your hand?" He winced after he said it, realizing it wasn't the most tactful question and quickly began to apologize, but Kalin didn't seem at all perturbed.
"Got into a fight with a Warrior. Lost rather badly. It was a long time ago, though, I barely even realize it's missing any more." He shrugged and began mixing things together. "I always liked to cook. Kitchens and gardens..." He trailed off. "I like them a lot more than fortresses."
"So were you... I mean, you're an escaped slave?"
"Yeah. It was so long ago now... It feels like another lifetime." He cooked silently for a moment, then began rummaging around in a set of cupboards and produced plates and silverware. "Serve yourself, take as much as you want," he offered, doing as he'd recommended. Dysis did, and they sat at a small table to eat and talk.
"Is Cleran all right?" Dysis asked.
"The last time we looked in on him, he was still unconscious. But don't worry, he'll be fine; it's been a bit of a shock to his system, but time should help him recover."
"How... How do you know?"
Kalin sighed and set down his fork. He closed his eyes gently and concentrated, a blue glow came up around him the way it did for Jereh when she Healed or when Islana had tried to use the tunnels, but this was gentler somehow. The sense of presence was suddenly back as the glow spread, grew, and turned into a far more tangible silver. When it faded and Kalin opened his eyes, which had gone cloudy again, and a pair of snow white wings were outstretched behind him, while a halo of silver light crowned him.
Dysis just stared.
"It's a bit of a shock at first; the human mind isn't really good at coping with such things. But it is good at adjusting," Kalin said softly. "He'll come out of it soon, I'm sure."
"You're an Angel?" Dysis managed to say after a minute.
"Sort of." He folded his wings and they began to glimmer, then faded. The halo remained for another moment, then that disappeared as well. "You have to die to be an Angel. I'm more of... A potential Angel. I suppose."
"What are you the Angel of...? Uh, if you know, I mean..."
Kalin smiled. "Peace."
Dysis let that sink in for a moment, while Kalin returned to eating. "I told Jall..." he shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. "When Jall asked me about the prophesy, I told him I would be happy to help if only the Prophet showed up..."
"I know."
"I thought it was safe to say that. I thought it would never happen."
"I know that too. But now you have to decide if you really mean it. I could force a surrender at this point; between the Knights and Erra's troops, it wouldn't be hard to storm your Island, to take by force everything we want. But I don't want that. I want peace, the sort of peace that will last, and that means having your cooperation."
"So am I being given a choice?"
Kalin nodded. "Jall promised you your life, and I respect that. You are still his concern. I was asked to step in and help your brother, and perhaps ease some of your fears."
Dysis nodded and took another bite. "There's no question, then. Cleran really is the third prophet."
"From the description I was given, he'd have to be."
Dy stabbed at some rice with his fork, scratching it against the plate in the process. "Cleran... He..." Dysis sighed. "The two of us were fighting, and I... Never mind."
"Cleran's sudden... Change... was brought out by emotions. He was distraught over Islana, and you were the nearest target. He loves you, but he knows how to hurt you."
"He meant everything he said, though," Dysis answered. "No one has ever given him a chance, no one ever expected him to do anything... To be worth anything. Even I... Even I treated him like that."
"I know." Kalin paused for a bite. "But you didn't realize you were doing something wrong. You were trying to help him."
"Yes, but... How could I have been so careless? Now.. Sundancer, now he's going to hate me. I've never yelled at him like that..."
"In all fairness, he's never yelled back."
"He... He nearly killed me." Dysis wasn't even sure what he was feeling now. He was guilty about the way he'd treated Cleran for so many years, and he was guilty for having screamed at his brother. But he was also angry; Cleran had betrayed him, knowingly. And jealous... And more than a little scared; here was the Voice of Kaleal, an Angel, and his younger brother was a prophet and who'd tried to kill him.
"He didn't want to, though. It took the anger to bring his abilities to the surface, but I don't think he's learned to control them yet. In that moment, he was angry at you, but ultimately, he never meant to hurt you."
"He betrayed me."
"Yes, he did." Kalin looked away from Dysis for a moment, then looked back, his expression unreadable. "But he loves her, Dysis."
"He can't."
"You can't choose who you fall in love with, trust me. But I promise that Cleran never meant to hurt you by it."
"Yeah, well, whether he meant to or not..." Dysis trailed off, annoyed. "I don't think things between us will be the same again."
"Naturally not. You'll be worried about what you say to each other, what you think of each other, how you treat each other. Just like any other friendship."
"But he's not supposed to be just another friend!" Dysis snapped. "He's my brother, I don't want to have to worry about it, I want him to be there behind me—the way he's always been."
Kalin smiled slightly. "If that's what you want, maybe you should stand behind him for a change. Even as a prophet, he'll need your support. Both as the High Priest and as his brother."
"I know." Dysis's fingers tightened into a fist around his fork. "I know."
[EYECATCH]
"Islana stopped being my concern years ago." Erra was resolute and angry. "If you're here to ask me to take her back, save your breath and leave."
"If you would only listen to me—"
"I won't. Get out."
Jall narrowed his eyes but continued. "You'd send your last friend away?" he asked. "You'd betray your past that much? Your parents, your brother, your wife and your son were all murdered. You've lost so many people already, and you'd still tell me to leave?"
"I told Kalin to leave, didn't I?" Erra snapped. "He was my blood-brother and I've never missed him."
"Of course. How stupid of me, to think that you somehow cared about your past." He paused. "But even after Ilyan ran away," he started again, switching tracks, "you welcomed him back. Why is Islana any different?"
"Ilyan and I fought because I didn't want him to leave home, not because he wanted to be a Knight. When Ilyan ran away, it wasn't a betrayal. Or rather, it's before your Goddess betrayed me. And not only did Islana risk her life by becoming a Knight, she left me for Kaleal. Why should I take her back?"
"Because Ilyan would want you to."
"Ilyan wouldn't have wanted his daughter to walk out on me."
"If Ilyan had survived, she'd have been walking out on him, and you'd have been telling him to make up with her. Your family is too damned stubborn, Erra, and I'm not leaving until you realize you are wrong."
"You come in here, tell me she's gone crazy and was sleeping with a Warrior, and think I'll want to deal with her?
Jall sighed. "Do you ever miss her, Erra?"
"Why would I?"
"Because she's your granddaughter and you raised her."
"If' she's got as many problems as you say, I didn't do a very good job."
"Because of course there's no possibility that she's got so many problems because the man who raised her won't speak a civil word to her now."
Erra narrowed his eyes. "Are you blaming me for her capture?"
"No, Erra, I'm blaming you for leaving her alone. She was stranded on Arpiar, she looked death in the face, and she was willing to give her life for yours. Or didn't anyone tell you that?"
"Tell me what?"
"Islana's a damn good Knight—or rather, was—and she had a chance to kill Dysis Serathi. She had a chain wrapped around his neck. And she could see it was probably her only chance to escape, and instead of taking it, she struck a deal with him. Dysis had been planning your assassination for quite some time, it seems. All the way back when Rallan was in charge. And she bargained to save your life in return for her own."
"Why would she do that?"
"She didn't explain it. But I have my theories... Honestly, Erra, you were the closet thing to a father she had after Ilyan died. She wouldn't just stand by and let you die.... But then, I think you'd have done the same thing. Or rather, did do the same thing. Why else would you be making sudden threats if she wasn't rescued?"
"Because Arpiar needs to be beaten into submission, and the Voice doesn't have the balls to do it."
"The Voice wants peace; real, lasting peace. And he's smart enough to know it won't come through destruction. And so are you."
"I'm smart enough to remember who killed my family. I'm smart enough to see that they hate us, and won't give you peace until they have no choice. And that any treatise would be violated within days—hours—if not enforced."
"You're wrong, Erra."
"When they couldn't find you, they killed your brother. It had nothing to do with the crime you committed and everything to do with them hating you just for being born. You think that's going to change?"
"I know it will. Maybe not soon, but someday. But it won't if we keep hating them. And bringing my brother into this was low, Erra."
"But you know I'm right. They aren't rational, they hate us, they won't stop until some one forces them—"
"Would you listen to yourself?" Jall demanded. "You hate them as blindly as they hate you."
"No," Erra spat. "It's not a blind hatred. I hate them because they hurt me, they took my parents, my brother, my wife, my son—hell, you brought her up, they took my granddaughter when she betrayed me to fight them. They hate me because I exist. I hate them because they hurt me. And what's more, you feel the same way. You always have, Jall."
"No," Jall answered evenly, "I don't. I don't hate 'them,' I hate what they did. I hate the individuals who gave me reason to. But I don't just hate. There are people on Arpiar who are as innocent as we used to be, before we had blood on our hands." He clenched a fist. "But I can see that I was wrong in coming here. It doesn't matter what I say—it doesn't matter that I'm right—your mind is made up."
"Then leave."
"I will." Jall paused to dig through the messenger bag he was carrying and produced a sheath of papers, then dropped them on Erra's desk. "You kill Galiera every time you snub Islana. Here, if it's so easy for you to destroy your own past—destroy these. They should mean nothing to you."
"What are they?"
"Letters." This was Jall's trump card, he hoped, it was the only thing he had left. "Letters you sent me when Ilyan ran away. Go ahead, burn them."
"All right," Erra said suspiciously. He reached for the papers and stood, facing his fireplace. "Galiera is as dead as her father is." He took the first one and reached out to drop it in the fire, but stopped as a few words caught his eye.
I wish Lalla was here... I know that's obvious, but she would know what to do about Ilyan. He's insufferable these days, he's so much like I was it's scary. And now I know why my father was so impatient with me.We've always fought somewhat, but lately I've been at my wit's end. Ilyan will be the death of me yet... He's threatening to run away now as well. If he shows up on your doorstep don't be surprised, I think he suspects Keres would hide him... What a pair they make.
Erra looked away from the paper, in to the fire. I would give anything to be able to fight with Ilyan again, he thought. He flipped to the next page, almost against his will. He knew that this was what Jall wanted, but couldn't help himself.
He remembered writing the next letter vividly. It had been a hasty note, sent by messenger through the tunnels in a panic. It was the night Ilyan had finally made good of his threat and run off.
The last thing he said was that he will be a Knight, no matter what I say. I can guarantee he'll be making for Cresula. I've sent nearly all my soldiers out after him, but should he still make it, please send him back home.He may be an idiot, but Ilyan is still my son and my Heir.
Jall had refused, of course. It was obvious to him that Ilyan had been meant to serve the Goddess. His hair was half white already when the Knights had found him trying to convince an oarsman to take him across to Cresula, and it made him look even more like his father. Jall couldn't have turned him away if he'd wanted to... But Jall had been the one who'd eventually gotten Ilyan calm enough to speak with his father again.
"You could almost replace Ilyan's name with Islana," Jall said, as Erra continued flipping to the next letter. "But that doesn't matter. All I have left to say is this, you've pushed away the last bit if Ilyan you had. Because if you truly believe that there's more of him in that—" he pointed at the necklace lying on Erra's desk—"than in her, you really have lost your mind. Your mind, your son, and your best friend. Contact me if you come to your senses, Erra, otherwise I won't be speaking with you again."
He let himself out, leaving Erra lost in thought.
His room has chilled considerably since he'd been unconscious, and now Cleran was just sitting alone in the dark. He hadn't touched the meal, he hadn't moved to build up the fire. He was going to have to soon, though, he could almost see his breath.
Cleran glanced over at the flames, squinted slightly, and concentrated. He pictured them building up into flames—slowly, this time—saw it all in his mind's eye, and released then tried to push the vision outward. It was an awkward feeling and he didn't know quite what he was doing, but it worked well enough. The smoldering coals burst into a small fire, and he could feel the heat across the room.
But that took a lot of energy. Cleran closed his eyes and felt the same darkness fall over him. It wasn't sleep, he knew that now, and knew that he was eventually just going to pass out for real, into an equally empty black, but one that didn't require his energy to sustain. He was so exhausted now, but felt there was one thing he had to do before he slept for real.
He knew exactly what he wanted to see, though it was nothing as lavish as Analla's Heaven or as elaborate as Ilyan's. There were only two people in the world he truly cared about, only two people he loved, no matter what they thought of him now, and he slowly began to build their images.
When he was done, they appeared in his Heaven, side by side but not quite touching. Dysis was bathed in a beam of sunlight, slightly taller than he was in real life, and a bit younger—closer to the way Cleran remembered him from his childhood. Dy's hair was still streaked blond in this image, and he looked far more peaceful. This Dysis was content just to be a priest, without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Islana looked more peaceful too, her eyes closed as though she were asleep, and covered in silver moonlight. He had watched her sleep every night; when she didn't tear up in her sleep, and when she wasn't plagued by nightmares, she had an almost angelic smile, one he rarely saw when she was awake. She was calm and beautiful, and he literally ached for her—her love more than her touch, though he wished for either one.
"But I can never have her," he said out loud, reaching forward, brushing his hand against hers. What he felt was cold and clammy, almost damp; the image was more solid than mist, but not much. He dropped his hand and closed his eyes. "I don't deserve her."
Ilyan gazed up at the starry sky he'd created for himself. He could feel his mother, Keres and the others, though only saw a dot-to-dot made of stars when he looked up. He knew where they were, but couldn't reach them, not yet. That was the price he paid for being an Angel; he got to help his daughter and Jall when they needed it, but couldn't truly be with them, and couldn't be with his deceased loved ones, either. He was an Angel, but he was caught in between except when he was needed.
"Soon," he promised himself, as he'd promised Jall earlier.
A tremor of energy ran through his meadow. He froze and concentrated, then could hear it: a voice, his father's voice, gently speaking his name. He could feel the tug of energy that connected him to his family, channeled through the necklace.
"Finally," he sighed, and let the meadow slip away.
[CLOSING CREDITS]